Lawrence Block - Enough Rope

“Well, you were right about that.”

“And now he’s trying to blackmail me. I don’t know if you’d call it blackmail from a legal point of view because he hasn’t exactly made any threats. But just this morning he called and said that if I wouldn’t lend him some money, then perhaps Bert would give him a loan. Needless to say he and Bert have never met, so my interpretation is that it’s blackmail.”

“I think you could call it blackmail. That was this morning?”

“Yes. I don’t remember what I told him. But he called back less than an hour later with a whole song and dance about how he loves me and we should run off together. I’m scared of what he might do next. I think I would have called you even if you hadn’t said what you did, because I wouldn’t know who else to call and I just can’t handle this one myself. But how did you know this would happen?”

“It was just a hunch. Let me think a minute. What’s this bastard’s name?”

“Klaus Eberhard.”

“And his address?” She gave it to him and he wrote it down. “All right. Now this is important. Did you ever say anything to him about me? Anything at all?”

“No. I’m positive I never did. I never talked to him about anything, really. We just—”

“You just studied bedroom Deutsch, right. Call him up right now and tell him you’ll meet him at his place tomorrow afternoon at three. Can you do that?”

“I never want to see him again, David.”

“You’ll never have to. I’ll keep the appointment for you.”

“I don’t want you paying him.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just make the call. I’m in a phone booth, I’ll give you my number and you can call me back and tell me the appointment’s set.”

He got toNew York shortly after noon the next day. He stopped at a restaurant near Grand Central but when he looked at the menu he realized he was too edgy to eat anything. He had a drink but decided not to have a second one.

In a shop on Madison Avenue he bought a black hat with a very short brim. In a drugstore a few blocks further along Madison he bought two flashlight batteries and put one in either pocket of his suit jacket. Then he walked for a while, writing and rewriting scenes in his mind.

At half past two he got out of a cab at the corner of Eighty-eighth and York and walked to the address Ellie had given him. He rang a variety of bells until some obliging tenant buzzed him through the front door. He walked up two flights of stairs and knocked on Klaus Eberhard’s door. It was opened by a man about thirty with pale blond hair and an open, engaging face. He was at least four inches taller than David Barr and weighed about the same. He wore an Italian knit sport shirt and tailored denim slacks, and he looked more like a ski instructor than an S.S. captain.

“Eberhard?”

“Yes, I am Eberhard.” His English was just barely accented. “How may I help you?”

“Klaus Eberhard?”

“But yes.”

He put his hands in his pockets and closed his fingers around the flashlight batteries. “You’d better close the door,” he said, stepping around Eberhard and into the apartment. “I have a message from Mrs. Kilberg and we don’t want the neighbors tuning in.”

Eberhard closed the door and put the chain bolt on. As he was turning around again, Barr hit him on the side of the jaw with all his strength. The German fell back against the door and Barr waded in after him, striking him repeatedly in the face and chest. The weight of the batteries increased the effect of the blows immeasurably. He could hear ribs give way as he battered them, and when he landed a punch to Eberhard’s nose there was an immediate geyser of blood.

He stepped back at last and Eberhard slid to the floor. Barr stood over him. He pitched his voice low and put the rasp of the New York streets into it. He said, “Now listen good, you son of a bitch. You are gonna stay away from Mrs. Kilberg. You are never gonna call her or see her or nothing. You spot her on the street, you better get your ass out of the way in a big hurry, because next time I kill you. This time I just send you to the hospital, but next time I kill you.”

Eberhard couldn’t get any words out. His lips moved but no sound was forthcoming.

“You get the message?” He drew back his foot. “Answer me.”

“Do not hurt me.”

“You understand what I been tellin’ you?”

“I understand. Chust don’t hurt me.”

“I got paid to break your arm. I’ll make it a clean break.”

The German was beyond resistance. He lay there, his head propped oddly against the door, while Barr placed a foot on his upper arm. Then he gripped the younger man’s wrist and pulled up against the elbow joint until he heard a snapping sound. Klaus Eberhard gave a short grunt and passed out.

On the street Barr walked two blocks until he came to a trash can. He deposited the two flashlight batteries and the hat and walked over to First Avenue to find a bar. He had two double scotches, tossing them off one after the other, then ordered a tall scotch and water. He drank about half of it before going to the men’s room.

He was not sick to his stomach. He’d expected nausea, only hoping to control it until he was finished with Eberhard, but all he felt now was an unfamiliar sense of exhilaration and a bit of pain in his hands. The knuckles of his right hand were badly skinned. He washed his hands and decided he could explain the damage as having been caused by a fall.

He returned to the bar and finished his drink. Then he went to the telephone and dialed her number.

He said, “You can forget that son of a bitch. You won’t hear from him again.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll probably tell you sometime. But not now. Just forget he ever existed. He’ll stay clear of you, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he leaves town.”

“I hope you didn’t give him any money.”

“Put your mind at rest.”

There was a pause. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I suppose ‘Thank you’ would be a good place to start, but it seems inadequate. However—”

“Don’t say anything.” He breathed in and out. The feeling of exhilaration was still present. “Ellie? I’ll be in the city again on Tuesday. I’d like you to meet me for lunch.”

“Something you don’t want to say on the phone?”

“Just a social lunch,” he said.

She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “All right. It’s such a complicated world, isn’t it? Where shall I meet you?”

“How about the same place as last time? The Grand Ticino?”

“Of course. That’s where you take married women, isn’t it?”

“Is noon a good time for you?”

“Such a complicated world. Yes, noon is fine.”

“Noon Tuesday at the Grand Ticino,” he said. “I’ll see you then.”

He had another drink and took a cab to the train station. He had some time to kill before his train left. He bought a magazine and sat in the main waiting room until his train was ready for boarding.

On the train, half an hour out of New York, he found himself wondering whether he had unconsciously planned the end of it as well. It seemed to him that he had not known he was going to make a lunch date with her, and yet it also seemed to him that he must have known. Had he designed the whole episode with Eberhard with just that end in mind?

He thought it over and decided it didn’t really matter.

When he got back home Marjorie asked him how the meeting had gone. “Went very well,” he said. “If they do make the movie they want me for the screenplay. That’s a big if, of course. I have to go in Tuesday for a conference with the director, and then we sit around and wait for the studio to say yes or no. But this afternoon was productive. I know I made a real impression on Eberhard.”